Archives for January 2013

There are some things that I see and I think, Seriously? I look back on my own childhood and thank the world that I had my mom doing things the way she did things.

Sometimes (not always, of course) I feel like my mom’s a little too hard on herself. Even though there are definitely times that my mom drives me or drove me up the wall…I think she did a fucking bad ass job of raising a couple of relatively normal human beings. So I’d like to take this opportunity to thank her for the shit she didn’t do. Because I am a better person for it.

Things My Mom Didn’t Do

Call alcoholic beverages “mommy juice”

Please. Please. Please for the love of God. Stop. Your children will eventually find out that you’re a lush. Calling it “mommy juice” doesn’t make it any better. It makes you sound silly. And drunk.

Now, I grew up surrounded by alcohol, without having alcoholic parents. My parents owned a bar. I knew alcoholics. I knew I didn’t want to be one. So I knew what booze was. I even knew when my parents were drinking it. Big fucking deal. Get over yourself. You aren’t the first parent to need a glass bottle of wine after a rough day. Call it what it is. Wine. Vodka. Beer. Whiskey. Name your poison…It’s okay, I promise. Your kid will thank you one day. Besides, I think I turned out okay.

Make alcohol seem taboo

I was allowed to taste everything, including, but not limited to wine and beer. I hated alcohol. It tasted gross. Children’s taste buds don’t actually LIKE booze (unless you’re drinking the super fruity stuff that tastes like candy. Don’t share that with the kids.) It’s the idea that it’s forbidden that makes so many kids experiment.

Sure I made jokes about drinking when I was a kid… When told I should drink MGD when I grew up, I told my older sister, Deven, that I would “drink Bud Light like my Daddy.” When she later told me that she would take me to a college party (at the age of 9) and get me a beer, I responded with, “I prefer cocktails.” In kindergarten, I drew a picture of a bar for what I wanted to be when I grew up. Instead of playing house or grocery store, we played bartender. But I’m almost 30 years old and I drink MAYBE once a week. So I think I’m alright on that front as well.

Give me a time out

Nope, I was never given a “time out” and asked about my feelings. Instead my parents would slap me on the ass and tell me that what I did was wrong. Seriously. Just like Pavolv’s pup, I knew when I did something bad and when I did something good. I was praised for good behavior, and taught not to be an asshole. I grew up with a healthy fear of punishment. Which is part of the reason I was such a Stepford child.

When I was an education major (twice), all of the books for child development were saying that you need to ask children about their feelings and why they did bad things. This pissed me off to no end. I even wrote a paper for Argumentative Writing in favor of corporal punishment for kids (when combined with a lot of affection.) Mostly this pissed me off because I know kids who had that kind of parent…and I know kids like me who had parents who actually punished their kids, and you know what? We were the teenagers who didn’t end up drunk off our asses and naked in the middle of a public street…(Yes, this actually happened to someone).

Let Me Run Wild

Whether in a restaurant, the grocery store, or even a kid-friendly locale, my mother had us on strict orders to behave. We weren’t allowed to run around like assholes, we had to ask to leave the table at a restaurant (even to go see the lobster tank at Red Lobster), and we had to stay close to her in stores. In other words, we were well-behaved little assholes. Most of the time.

I remember being pulled out of a restaurant and getting spanked in the parking lot, after which we returned to the table, and I was a silently crying, but sitting and not yelling, little girl. Another time, I remember playing in someone’s basement for 20 minutes, and mom thought we were outside. When she couldn’t find us, we were no longer allowed to go to the pool with our babysitter that day.

Consequences. There were consequences to running wild. I see too many kids who dominate their parents, and the parents look frazzled and unsure of what to do…At which my point my mother would look at us and say, “I am the parent. You are the child. When you’re the parent, you can do what you want. Until then sit down and shut up.”

For the record, my dad’s pretty fucking awesome, too.

My first legal shot with my parents. (Isn’t my mom short and adorable?)

What about you, Blog Friends? What are you glad your mom did or didn’t do? Will you do the same for your kids?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

I remember the day that The Bloggess starting following me on Twitter like it was yesterday. I was stoked. I mean, she’s the freakin’ BLOGGESS! And she’s funny. And her blog makes me laugh. But it took me a while to read her book. In the end, I couldn’t put it down. I finally finished.

Flight to Florida

Last week, Brian and I made our way back to Florida for another fun-filled vacation of joy in which I did a whole lot of awesome things when Brian wanted to be sleeping. But this post isn’t about our trip. This post is about airplanes. And The Bloggess (Jenny Lawson). And her book, Let’s Pretend this Never Happened.

On our flight down, I was reading a book that I was less than impressed with (and will not name) because I wanted to finish it before getting back to laughing hysterically at the one and only Jenny Lawson. I was stuck in the middle seat next to a larger older lady who took up her seat, half of my seat and some of the aisle. Needless to say I was not pleasantly seated for the 3 hour flight.

Not only did Bitchy McBitch feel the need to take up half of my seat, she also glared at me. Like I was spewing poison from my left cheek or something. Sure I was sitting up, leaning on my tray, but that was only because I needed somewhere to rest my arthritic, carpal tunneled wrist and she was in my way.

I feel that it’s important to say here that people who are stuck in the middle seat should be granted BOTH fucking arm rests. Also, people who recline their seats on airplanes are ass hats.

But we landed safely.

On our flight back, on the other hand, I had an excellent seat. I went in with a plan. My seating on Southwest was about 60 people before Brian, so I got on, and made my way to the very back of the plane, where the flight attendants informed me that there were 175 seats and 139 purchased. (I also overheard them say that there were 4 lap children. I’m not making shit up, people.) I sat down, and reserved the two other seats in our row.

When Brian arrived, I took the aisle, and he took the window. No one was going to come all the way to the back to sit in a middle seat. It was a brilliant plan. Once we were in the air, I scooted over and snuggled up against a sleeping Brian. Then I started to read.

Let’s Pretend This Never Happened: A Book Review

When I told the world that I was going to read this book, the world responded with a resounding “OMFG this book is amazing!”

I’m not going to lie, though. It took me a few chapters to get into it. I totally get that the strange happenings in Lawson’s life made her the brilliant and funny writer that she is, I just couldn’t really get into the Wall, Texas thing. I didn’t totally relate. I had heard there was laugh out loud humor…but I longed for a little Chelsea Handler…until…

Jenny Lawson grew up (sort of). And found Victor. And started making me laugh so hard I almost peed my pants. Twice.

Once the Bloggess grew up, I found that I wanted her to be my new best friend (Don’t worry Katie–you’re irreplaceable). I would be reading in bed and Brian would tell me to quiet down, for fear of waking our neighbors (like seriously, not jokingly.)

So there we were on the plane with 142 other souls ( I think it’s entertaining to say souls instead of people. Does anyone know why they did/do that? Please enlighten me!) and I was reading. And laughing. And reading. And laughing more. And every time I laughed, I looked at Brian and if he was awake, I made him read the paragraph that made me laugh. Or I would wake him up to tell him. Or I would just look to see if my laughter woke him up. And then I looked around to see if anyone was silently judging me. Which they were. But I didn’t care because Jenny Lawson is hilarious.

She talks about being weird and kind of an outsider (which I can TOTALLY relate to). She talks about being a writer and a blogger and a daughter and a woman in a relationship with her person and a mom. Minus the mom part, I totally get it. And I feel like she’s one of my people.

I love that she interjects with comments about her editor. I love the randomness that the book is created out of. I love it all. And I bet if I went back and read that first part, I would love that too.

And the whole time, Brian would wake up and comment that I needed to be quiet because the captain at the front of the plane could hear me laughing.

Jenny Lawson, welcome to my hero club. You have 142 “souls” to apologize to, because I was all up in their business during that 3 hour flight with my echoing laughter. They really should just read your book, and then they would totally get it.

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

The Dolphin

For some reason, there are random dolphin statues all over Marco Island. Last year, I got drunk on fruity cocktails, and hugged this guy:

This year was no different.

Of course, a lot more than drunken dolphin hugging happened…

I Hate TSA

If you remember from our trip to Disney World last September, with the drama of the skunk (actually, go read that. Right. Fucking. Now. Because it’s an awesome story. I’ll wait.) I have a packing problem. Not that I pack too much, but that it takes me a really fucking long time to pack things properly…And then TSA fucks it all up. So after I spent hours packing for Marco, I wrote TSA a little note.

And you’ll never guess whose suitcase they checked this time…Brian’s! I think that they opened mine, and though Fuck That…we’ll open the other one. SUCCESS!

The Injuries

It wouldn’t be a Chrissy trip if injuries weren’t involved. Yes, I managed to carve several gashes into both of my feet, slit my wrist, slice up my hand, burn random designs into my body, and die of dysentery a la The Oregon Trail because I couldn’t carry the whole buffalo back to my covered wagon. OK, maybe not that last one. But I did tame a giant albino boa constrictor with my bare hands. (That one may be a bit of an exaggeration.)

OK, so the gashes (at least 5 in each foot) may or may not have come from the beachy shells stuck in my pink Walmart water shoes that have braved rivers, lakes, and oceans…Apparently when you let the ocean wash into your shoes, you shouldn’t walk like 5 miles in them. Just a word of advice…

Ignore the Polish cankles and the Flintstoes (Flintstone toes) for just a minute to admire the colorful bandaids…More cuts ensued…It was not fun.

And the slicing up of my hand…Apparently you shouldn’t put your hand under water in the ocean feeling around for shells. One just might bite you. Or three…

Slitting my wrist? I think that wine glass tried to kill me! I was drying the wine glasses when I must have been drying a little too hard. The next thing I know, I’ve got a stem in one hand and a foot in the other…and the wrist near the foot of the glass is gushing blood from the broken stem jabbing mighty hard into my wrist.

I had a picture of the cut itself, which is ugly as fuck, but I decided not to do that to you guys. Do you like my Mickey band-aids?

This is how to properly burn one’s self in the most random designs imaginable. Let the water of the ocean rush all up in your leg business and forget to reapply the sunscreen.

Braving the “Wild” Animals in the Everglades (ish)

I was bullied. Seriously bullied into a snake around my neck. And an alligator in my hands. You can see the fear in my eyes.

He protects me from beasts.

I was bullied into wearing this snake like a scarf. Brian kept saying they felt like good boots.

He liked me…

In Which I Said “Hi” From the Beach During My Sand Dollar Hunt

I had been out since 7 AM (sunrise), but I took a break from sand dollar hunting to say hello to my blog friends! Also, I feel goofy on video.

In total, I found about 50 sand dollars that I brought home with me. Some cracked along the way, but holy crap. They call it sand dollar spit for a reason.

When I was growing up, we did a lot of “camping.” Of course, our version of camping was a little bit more civilized than the camping that I learned about when I went to college and planned my first “real” camp out. We had a motor home. A motor home that happened to be Dad’s daily driver.

We always had a fully stocked fridge, running water, a shower, a toilet, a functional kitchen, and beds. We stayed in resort campgrounds, mostly Yogi Bear/Jellystone Parks where we swam in heated pools with water slides instead of lakes or rivers. We played video games in the arcade, and the parents cocktailed by the pool. We watched cartoons in an outdoor theater, participated in exciting kid programming like water balloon fights, scavenger hunts, and snipe hunts.

Our favorite campground was in Calendonia, Wisconsin. Occasionally, we would take “nature walks” around Boo Boo Pond. This would always seem like an adventure, but we never really saw anything terribly exciting…Except for that one time we saw a duck. It was a white duck that was just sitting there…hanging out.

Usually, the ducks were in the pond, but not this little guy. Or girl. She was sitting a foot off the path. Just sitting there.

We often brought bread to feed the fishies, so I thought that it would be cool to feed the duck.

Big mistake.

Huge.

I reached out to hand the ducky a little piece of bread. The damn thing reached it’s beak out and bit the crap out of my little hand. I screamed. My mom laughed. My brother laughed. I started crying. I had a big red bite mark covering my entire hand. It was surprising how much it hurt. Stupid duck beak.

Apparently, the duck was sitting on a nest. It was definitely a she-duck. A mommy-to-be-duck. A biting-vicious-beast-duck.

I remember whining about how I got bit by a duck. The whole weekend. I’ll bet my family loved that. Then again, whenever something ridiculous happens to me, I whine for days…

I’m really having a lot of fun writing fiction, but I’m also super insecure about it, because it is quite new to me. Other than some creative writing classes almost a decade ago (in which I mostly wrote non-fiction stories from my life or silly sonnets about Chiclets and poems about my hatred for Snood and such), my experience in fiction is minimal. So if you read this…and like this…PLEASE tell me! 🙂 If you don’t like this…you can tell me that too. Just, you know…be nice about it. No one likes a Debbie Downer.

The Letters

She waited patiently at the airport gate. Home. I’m going home. She hadn’t been home in years. She worked so hard to get here. The person she was as a teenager was long gone. The girl she was before Sam…Who?I don’t even remember her. He will. He’ll want me to be her. He’s married. Admitting them for the first time, even in her head, the words hit her like a ton of bricks.

She heard over the loud speakers, Boarding flight 1-9-2-5. Last call for boarding flight 1-9-2-5. Mel stood and walked toward the gate. Home.

She had written two letters last week. Two carefully penned letters. Two very different
letters to Jack.

Jack,

It’s been so long, I hardly know where to begin. I know that I left abruptly. I’m so sorry. I fucked up. I got into some trouble and I didn’t want you to know. I spent a year in a juvenile detention center for the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.

I graduated with honors, though, and went on to a community college. I worked sohard, Jack. Just like you. Just like you always thought I would. You would have been so proud of me, I know it. After I got my associate’s degree, I found a really great job. I was working for a generous and patient guy, who taught me everything there is to know about restaurant management.

And then I fucked up again, Jack. My boss, Michael, was something of a player. He only hit on me once, and I told him that a better use of his time was to teach me the how to run a restaurant or seven. I thought of how proud you would be. He admired my aspirations and drive, so he never tried anything again. But he had a little brother…who learned from the master of players.

When Michael lost the manager of one of his restaurants, he gave me the position. Itrained officially with his brother, Ben. I think I fell in love, Jack. But Ben was bad news. I just…I didn’t know it then.

There was so much more that she could say. Jack, I’m trying so hard to make you proud of me. I didn’t want to come home until I was worthy of your pedestal. I’m pregnant with an asshole’s child. A lying, cheating asshole who wanted to pay me off to “get rid of it?” The same guy who got me fired from the only job I was ever really good at? I have nothing and no one, so now I need you? Help me. Jack, I want to be amazing, but the only thing I’m great at is fucking up?

But she did not. She could not. She would never even send the first letter. Let alone add more to it. How do I tell my best friend that I’m not even close to the girl that he thinks I am? I always wanted to be that girl. But I couldn’t. I’m not. That’s why I left. Maybe I shouldn’t go home. There’s nothing there but an empty house and a broken heart. NO. I have to go. I WANT to go. Maybe he’ll still be there. For me. I need a friend. Desperately.

So she wrote a shorter letter. She wrote the words that she needed to write. She told him. That’s all she needed to say.

For now.

Jack,

There is so much that I want to tell you. I know that I’ve been gone for a long time, but I’m coming home.

I really want to see you, Jack. I miss you.

Mel

************************************************************************
The second is the letter that found its way to Jack. Three sentences. Three dangerous
sentences. Three.

She is coming home. Home. Jack paused for a minute before he could breathe again. Why now? He tried so hard to keep her out of his thoughts. But sometimes, he just couldn’t. She was there. And she would be home soon.

The Fiction Writing Prompt

Invent a / your character (who) has two personality traits that are completely incompatible, that don’t fit together at all. For example: this character is incredibly messy and is also a total perfectionist. Or: this character is a pacifist and also has a really explosive temper. Or: this character believes in strict, traditional family values but is promiscuous by nature. You decide. Then think of a situation in which these two sides of your character would be in direct conflict with each other. Write the story.

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

As you may remember, I’ve got a laundry list of game reviews to write, but I promised myself that I would never let reviews take over my blog. The holidays may have gotten me slightly off track, but with the aforementioned promise, it seems totally acceptable.

Today is the day to revisit the world of product reviews. Today is the day to review an amazing kids game. Today is the day to talk about pirates. And penguins. And Little A. And Trouble.

Little A is my gamer-in-training godson. Trouble is his little sister. We had a lovely afternoon of gaming a few weeks ago, and played this amazing game. “What game?” you ask? Don’t Rock the Boat from Patch Products. You may know Patch from Farkle or Buzzwords.

Does this not look AWESOME!? Penguins and Pirates Meets Topple and Jenga. Sounds like a winning combination to me!

The mission is simple: Stack all of the penguins onto the boat without tipping it over.

The task itself? REALLY HARD!

Three adults and a pretty clever 7 year old had to work really hard (and maybe not quite follow the rules) in order to achieve perfection. But did we have fun doing it? Hell yes.

Let me start from the beginning.

I busted the game out for Little A and I to play. My cousin Rachel, Trouble, and Brian all decided they wanted to play. So we set the game up. Little A was STOKED because the box alone was some pretty sweet business.

The game is super easy to set up. It comes with the base, the ship, and the pirate penguins.

Start with one penguin pirate…then work your way around the table.

Just like Jenga, the object is to gently complete the task, without toppling the whole game over. Except that Jenga starts out easy. This, my friends, is some tough stuff. That ship is teetery and tottery and crazy. It’s like the ocean has declared war on the pirate penguins.

The minute Trouble saw one penguin topple the whole game, she giggled and giggled and decided that was exactly how you play the game. That and stealing the penguins. We had to hide them from her.

Little A trying REALLY hard to stack all of the penguins on the boat. You’ll note that he’s totally cheating by holding the ship.

So we may have cheated a little bit. Our mission was to get all the penguins on the ship. Little A decided that he cold hold the ship while he placed it. Rachel, Brian, and I chose not to argue with the kid’s logic.

And we did it!

Success! (Even though we cheated)

So, really, this is a game that anyone can play. Even a two year old like Trouble. Even when she is trying to sabotage the game and steal all of the penguin pirates. It’s more fun that way, right?

We really loved playing, and Little A wanted to play with the pirate penguins the rest of the day. And take the ship off of the wave base. Because then the penguins wouldn’t fall over. This game rocks.

What are some games that you love to play with the whole family?

***I was given a free copy of Don’t Rock the Boat at the Chicago Toy & Game Fair in order to play and review it. I was not paid money to say nice things about the game, nor was I compensated in any other way.

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

I’m Personally Helping Keep the USPS in Business

The other day, I spent some dollars at the post office. And I left feeling better than I had in a long freakin’ time. Among other things, I sent a random present to Katie at Words for Worms. And I wasn’t even planning on it! It just sort of happened.

I mean, when you walk into the post office and the cutest penguin Christmas cards ever are staring at you on the clearance rack, you don’t just walk away from that shit. Especially if your best friend has an unhealthy obsession with penguins. You just don’t. And if you’re at the post office when it happens…all the better. It’s like, screaming to be shipped off to its future owner. And then hopefully that adorbs baby penguin face will make it onto my Christmas card wall next year.

Super Fun RANDOM Giveaway

If you’ve been reading my blog for any stretch of time, you know that I’m a little on the random and ridiculous side. My Big Happy Paycheck to Me Giveaway was my way of sharing with my new blog friends. The prizes were a surprise of my favorite things, and let’s just say the winner, Lily from It’s a Dome Life was not displeased. (She received all sorts of goodies from Trader Joe’s – brownie mix, chocolate chips, cheese crackers, cookies, salsa, and the most amazing glaze ever, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, and a Disney Trading pin.)

I have some random stuff to giveaway to some lucky readers. Three lucky readers to be exact. You will receive a small package of little goodies to make you smile. Because who doesn’t love a package in the mail? Note: A used, but awesome book will be included in each package.

10 Chances to Enter the Super Fun Giveaway

1 Entry: Post a comment on this blog post. Easy enough. Except that I want to hear about YOUR favorite things. What makes you smile? What makes you happy? If you were Oprah, what would you give away?

Up to 5 additional entries:Post relevant comments on some of my older or upcoming blog posts. Do not fret. I’ll be able to see them all behind the scenes…

Everyone’s got at least one “vacation” that wasn’t a vacation at all. I, of course, have several. My mom probably thinks that I’m going to write about the worst vacation ever, which is also known by me as the worst Thanksgiving ever…but I’ll save that gem for another time. (Love you mom!)

This is one that we all look back on and think. Wow. Just freakin’ wow.

I was 15. A sophomore in high school. It was Spring Break, and we were going on vacation! We had gone to Florida the previous Spring Break (my 3rd visit of now 8 trips to the Sunshine State). That was the magical trip in which we named our dog, Buck, where we ventured through Disney World, traveled to the west coast and spent half our vacation beach side. My sophomore year, though, no Disney World or beachy ocean view for us. There’d be lots of sand…but no beach.

I heard they called it The Desert.

We were off to Arizona, land of the sun. No rain. No snow. No oceany watery goodness. Just sand. Lots and lots of sand. Mom’s best friend had moved out there with her family, so we were going to visit them. Even at the airport, Brian (my brother), Dad and I stared longingly at the Florida departure gates.

Mom had heard about the beauty of Arizona, and was the only one who was really excited about the trip.

Here are the highlights:

I had given up pizza for lent. On the Friday night we were there, my family decided that it was a brilliant idea to order pizza for dinner at the hotel. I walked to the Cracker Barrel next door so I could pick up food that I could eat. The smell of pizza made me wish I wasn’t Catholic.

When Mom and I went to breakfast one morning, James Van Der Beek, or his damn well doppelganger was sitting a few tables away from us…I kept staring, and he even smiled at me. (This was at the very beginning of Dawson’s Creek, when all of my peers were obsessed with the teen heartthrob).

That same day, some of my parents’ friends from Chicago were also on vacation in Arizona, and came to our hotel to spend the afternoon poolside with us. Imagine my surprise when James Van Der Beek was someone’s son! I was this awkward 15 year old, talking to this beautiful older boy. I’m almost sure I made an ass of myself.

After getting a raging sunburn during the aforementioned super hot poolside afternoon, it rained. And then it snowed. IN FUCKING ARIZONA. Where it never rains. Let alone snows. Especially when one is sunburned.

I climbed a mountain. Yes. Me. Klutzy. Crazy. Falls down like a boss. Me. I got all the way to the top of Camelback Mountain. I was a proud Chrissy. I rocked. Even though I only had sandals…and had to wear socks with them. And looked ridiculously stupid. I climbed a flippin’ mountain. And then I got all the way down the mountain. And there were stairs for the last leg of the journey. And at the very bottom stair…I sprained my fucking ankle. Like a boss.

Note the sandals with socks. I brought an entire suitcase full of shoes and not one pair of gym shoes…

What about you, Bloggie Friends? Any vacay memories that you’d like to share with me? I’d love to hear them!

So go out. Buy a hunk. Eat the whole thing. You deserve it. Might I recommend some of my elite fancy favorites? (I don’t have a Google Doc or anything…) You can likely find these guys at a Whole Foods or fancy cheese market near you. If you don’t have one of those, your local grocer should have Cabot, Kerry Gold Dubliner, or some fine cheese spread from Wisconsin I do love my Wisconsin Cheese.

Cypress Grove Cheese

This goat cheese specialist makes some of the finest goat cheese around. From Midnight Moon (mild and delightful, perfect for less than adventures cheesies) to Humboldt Fog (OH MY GOD if you like brie and blue, you’ve got to try this shit. Not for the casual cheese eater. This one is for the connoisseur.)

They’ve got a variety of other flavored goat cheeses for the taking, including truffle tremor (Hello truffle flavor!) But you know…don’t let this tiny little post show you how much I love Cypress Grove. Let me love letter speak for itself.

Can you tell we like to have “cheese days?”

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

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